


le petit soleil

by equalistmako



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Idk what this is just take it, i haven't written in about 2 years, so sorry if this is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equalistmako/pseuds/equalistmako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a fiery ball of warmth in his dull, dull world and he wanted nothing more than to lazily stretch out in her light and soak it in."</em>
</p><p>Adrien becomes curious about and eventually drawn in by Marinette's inability to hide her emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anger

It all started with an innocent, self-depreciating statement. 

“Chat Noir’s kinda useless, if you think about it.”

Adrien hadn’t even been aware that anyone but Nino, who had long since learned to tune out his coffee-fueled rants, had been listening. A fear had been churning in his gut for the past couple of weeks and he'd simply needed to vent some of the fear out into the open air before it made him sick. 

He didn't mean to start a debate or offend anyone. His words were supposed to be drowned out by the early morning chatter, mingling with the indistinct conversations around the room that had long since mutated into something muddled and incomprehensible. 

As soon as the statement had left his mouth, though, goosebumps slowly began to cover his exposed skin. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. It was almost as if his body was trying to warn him of some kind of danger his sleep-addled brain had yet to catch onto. 

“Please tell me I misheard you,” a quiet but firm voice piped up from behind him. 

He jumped slightly. He didn’t get to talk to his classmate much, but (despite her quietness and occasional stutters) he’d be able to recognize Marinette’s sweet, warm voice anywhere. At the moment, though, her voice was anything _but_ warm. He could practically feel her eyes boring into the back of his head and the intensity of it sent a chill up his spine. 

He put on his most pacifying Adrien Smile™ in an effort to avoid freaking her out like he always seemed to before slowly spinning around in his seat to face her. His smile was pacifying, yes, but that didn’t mean he was going to retract his statement. He was a cat. By nature, he was nothing if not stubborn. 

“Sorry if you’re a fan of his,” he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “But I stand by what I said. From a realistic standpoint, Chat Noir isn’t exactly necessary. Ladybug could easily defend Paris on her own.”

Her face was covered in the bright flush he’d long since learned to associate with her, but her expression was calculating. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she slowly processed his words. 

“You… you think Chat Noir is unnecessary?” she asked quietly, almost as if she’d never expected to hear those words used in that order and she was testing them out on her tongue to see how they tasted. Judging from her expression, the taste was bitter.

Alya looked up from her phone for the first time that morning and shot the girl a strange look, but Marinette didn’t even glance at her. Her intense gaze on him was unfaltering. He shifted uncomfortably in response. 

“Ch-chat Noir is… h-he’s…”

She stopped and took a deep breath before dropping the hold her eyes had on his and fiddling with the suddenly-fascinating pencil in her hand.

“Chat Noir,” she started again, her voice considerably less shaky, “isn't unnecessary. Ladybug needs him.”

Despite a voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up, the spark of annoyance he felt at her blunt declaration (as if she was claiming to know more about Ladybug’s needs than him— HIM!) caused the fear that had been churning in his gut to come flowing out of his mouth like vomit. 

“With all due respect, you don’t know anything about Ladybug if you think she needs anyone to help her out. She’s the one who comes up with the plans and fixes everything. All Chat Noir does is get in the way with his bad luck and all of Paris knows it. We'd probably all be better off if he just disappeared. Actually, I doubt anyone would notice.”

Her head snapped up at hearing this and he had to hold back a gasp.

Marinette was a very expressive person. He knew this. Everyone knew this. But he’d never really looked at her face long enough to notice the little details. Like how her tiny nose wrinkled in distaste or how her pouty pink lips curled in annoyance or how the flush on her cheeks gradually changed hue from a light pink to a deep red. 

Her eyes were definitely her most intense and captivating feature, though. Blue was a color he normally associated with dullness and chilliness but, as the next slew of words came out of Marinette’s mouth, he was suddenly reminded of how blisteringly hot and strikingly bright a blue flame could burn. 

“ _With all due respect_ , you couldn’t be more wrong. Chat Noir and Ladybug are a team. They have each other’s backs and bring out the best in each other. Chat Noir’s so-called “unlucky” powers have gotten them both out of tight spots more often than not, and he’s proven time and time again that he would literally take a bullet for her. Nobody would notice if he left? How about the countless people he's saved, Ladybug included? He puts everything he has into protecting this city— the city you happen to live in— and yet you can still stand here despite that, despite everything, and call him useless? That’s… that’s… _bullshit_.”

He heard more than saw Alya gasp and smack Marinette on the arm in response to her outburst. The raven-haired girl was all he could see at the moment. 

She was breathing heavily and clenching her fist around her stubby pencil and more than likely attempting to turn him to stone with her gaze, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel abashed or to look away. She was usually so nervous when she was around him. Quiet, fidgety, flushed, tongue-tied. That's how he usually saw her. But what he'd just witnessed had been different. It was pure fire and the remnants of her flames were still licking at the corners of her eyes and illuminating her entire face. She was intensity personified and he couldn’t help but be a little mesmerized.

Alya muttered something to Marinette and suddenly those flames receded. The eyes he couldn't seem to look away from snapped wide open and the enticing flush on her cheeks spread down her neck as she looked back and forth between her red-haired friend and Adrien, almost as if she'd just realized who she'd been talking to. She stammered something so quietly that he was only able to pick up the words "sorry" and "bathroom" before she hopped up from her seat and hightailed out of the room, nearly barreling into their confused teacher in the process.

"Sorry about that, Adrien," Alya whispered after a few seconds of stunned silence.

He turned his head to face her, but she was back on her phone, her focus on the device unwavering.

"I guess we can _both_ get a little too passionate about the heroes of Paris at times." 

Adrien leaned back in his seat, ignoring Nino's confused post-earbud-removal "whoa what did I miss" as he tried to figure out why his heart was beating so fast. Why her impassioned words wouldn't stop echoing around in his head. Why her fiery expression had become tattooed on the back of his eyelids. Unfortunately, he didn't have long to contemplate any of these things before his obvious zoned-out expression got him scolded in front of the class. 

Marinette silently returned from the restroom a little while later, pointedly avoiding looking in his direction as she trekked back to her seat. He attempted to say something to her, but her sudden laser focus on the lesson and another look of disapproval from the teacher when he'd turned around in his seat was enough to stop him.

All he wanted to do was have another quick chat with her. A chance to debate with her more and possibly end their whole conversation on a better note. But the rest of the day passed without a single window of opportunity. He internally cursed his bad luck.

~~~

That night, he tossed and turned in his bed, groaning lowly when sleep continued to elude him. He kicked his covers off and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the bright light emitting from his alarm clock as Marinette's words from that morning rattled around in his brain. He knew it was a weird thing to fixate on, being yelled at, but it wasn't exactly the yelling that captivated him but rather the raw, honest emotion behind it. 

With the exception of Nino, everyone in Adrien's life was either closed-off or fake. His father was distant (to say the least), trying to talk to Nathalie was like chatting with a bland stone wall, the models he worked with were too professional to ever joke around with him, and the industry people he modeled for were too obsessed with image to show any real emotions. And then there was Ladybug. She was the opposite of bland, but he never felt like he was seeing the _real_ Ladybug. She was too distant, too superficial, too concerned with hiding her identity to ever let down her walls. He constantly felt like he was trapped inside of a tinted bubble, the real world around him muffled and dulled down and _just_ out of his reach.

But Marinette wasn't as dull and quiet as he'd once mistakenly assumed. She was lively. Real. An open book.

He'd gotten a glimpse of the real Marinette today. And, he realized as he lifted the arm off of his face and let it fall to his side with a muted thump, he wanted to see her again. The real her. He didn't want her to revert back to the shy girl from before.

He glanced over at his clock and squinted at the numbers on the digital screen. It was a little past midnight. He had 2 early photoshoots tomorrow and he knew that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he'd be scolded by the make-up artist for the dark circles marring the underside of his eyes. He needed to tire himself out with some light exercise. Maybe a lap or two around Paris would do the trick.

"Plagg, wake up," he hissed, lightly nudging the pillow his kwami was currently resting on with his foot.

No response.

"Plagg. I need you to transform me."

Silence.

"There'll be some camembert in it for you when we're done."

An ear twitch.

"An _entire platter_ of camembert," Adrien said, sighing under his breath.

At hearing that, the kwami sprang up from the pillow, eyes wide with excitement as he zipped towards the window.

"Come on come on come on what are we waiting for?" the small cat said, hurriedly beckoning Adrien over as if their roles had suddenly reversed.

Adrien rolled his eyes and transformed in record time before jumping out of his window and into the chilly Parisian air. He laughed as he launched himself from rooftop to rooftop. He always felt so free, so awake as Chat. It was as if his leather-clad persona temporarily opened up that damn bubble of his and, finally, let him feel. 

After a while, he chose a cozy rooftop balcony to land on and catch his breath. He felt electrified, his body humming happily as the exercise-induced endorphins worked their magic on him. Sometimes he wished he could be Chat Noir forever. He could deal with the chafing and barely audible squeak of his leather suit as it moved if it meant he could feel this alive all the time. But he wasn't Chat-- he was Adrien. The fantasy always had to end at some point.

Sighing in defeat, he turned to head back home. He still needed to get some sleep before his first photoshoot. In the dark, though, he misjudged where he was walking and ended up knocking into a table of some sort. Something crashed to the ground and shattered into a hundred pieces and he didn't even have time to panic before a trapdoor flung open to his left, a blanket of light spilling out into the night. 

He silently crept backwards until he was pressed up against a wall, completely engulfed in shadows as his heart beat hard and loud enough that he was certain it would give him away.

He knew he had to be silent, but he couldn't stop the startled gasp that escaped from his lips when he saw just whose rooftop his bad luck had led him to that evening.

A sleep-tussled Marinette emerged from the trapdoor, rubbing her eyes as she looked around her balcony for whatever intruder or wild animal had awoken her. Her eyes passed over where he was standing and she froze in place. He shut his eyes tightly and cringed as he waited for her to yell at him, certain she'd found him. But all he heard was a loud exhalation he could only assume was a pouty huff. He peeked out at her from underneath his lashes and watched as hoisted herself out of the hole and shuffled towards that corner of her balcony in fuzzy pink slippers, muttering under her breath as she went. 

"Nice going, Marinette," she said as she glared down at the broken ceramic pot on the ground with her hands on her hips, "how are you ever supposed to convince your parents to let you have a cat if you can't even keep a potted plant alive."

He relaxed. She hadn't seen him. But when she bent down to clean up the ceramic pieces, he silently wished she _had_ seen him. Her robe had fallen open, revealing the tiniest tank top and pair of shorts he'd ever seen on a person. He averted his gaze, his face growing hotter and hotter with each passing second. Unfortunately, as Marinette shuffled around in her tiny shorts, cleaning up the mess he'd made, he couldn't stop his eyes from flickering back to her shapely legs every few seconds. He felt like the world's biggest creep. 

She was going to find him he just knew it. She was going to find him and he wouldn't be able to explain why he was here and then he was going to be arrested. 

He could picture it now-- the police and news reporters would show up alongside a disgusted and disappointed Ladybug, and the next day the entire world would think Chat Noir was some kind of creepy voyeuristic pervert. His mugshot would be plastered on every internet forum out there. He'd become some kind of sick meme.

He quickly found his fears to be unfounded. Marinette nicked her hand on a jagged piece of ceramic and hurriedly jumped back into her room to go clean up the blood. Part of him felt bad for practically being the cause of her pain, but an even bigger part of him was relieved for the out. 

He extended his baton to the streets below and vaulted himself off of the balcony before she could return, heading back in the direction of his home.

He landed in his room with a light thump and Plagg immediately released his transformation, demanding his platter of stinky cheese before Adrien could take a breath. As he snuck down to the kitchen to pacify his gluttonous kwami, he couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face now that the danger of being discovered and framed as a weird pervert had passed. She'd looked cute as she'd grumbled to herself with her hair rumpled from sleep, effortlessly emitting that warmth he was slowly coming to associate with her. 

He concluded then, as opened up the fridge and preemptively covered his nose with his hand to save himself from the pungent cheese odor that would soon assault his senses, that he wanted to get to know her better. 

If her anger was this captivating, he couldn't imagine how intense her other emotions would be. And, oh, how he wanted to see all of them. For purely scientific reasons, of course. He wanted to write the guidebook on how many wild expressions her face was incapable of hiding. And, more than anything, he wanted to be the cause of those expressions-- the real expressions. Not the closed-off nervousness he normally seemed to bring out of her.

Like any other cat, he couldn't help but be drawn to warmth.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a fiery ball of warmth in his dull, dull world and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to lazily stretch out in her light and soak it in.

He'd start by visiting her again tomorrow, he decided with a resolute nod. 

But this time, he thought with an embarrassed flush, he was going to use the front door.


	2. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Adrien is a human disaster...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! Getting back into the world of fanfiction after 2 years of writers block is terrifying but you guys have made it at least 40% less terrifying so #blessyou~
> 
> Anyways this chapter is a mess (in a very literal sense) but here ya go...

Adrien liked to believe he was brave.

As Chat Noir, he edged the line between life and death on a weekly basis. Close calls happened more often than not and he often felt as if karma was trying to get back at him for attempting to perpetuate that "nine lives" myth. Yet, despite it all, still he fought. Still he picked himself back up after getting knocked down and protected his city alongside his Lady without hesitating or breaking a sweat.

When met with the simple prospect of opening a door, though, Adrien Agreste was sweating straight through two whole shirts.

The intoxicating aroma of freshly-baked pastries permeated the air around him as he stood outside of the quaint boulangerie-pâtisserie, and he was certain his stomach would be growling in hunger were it not already filled to the brim with butterflies. Why was this so difficult for him? He was just... saying hello to a classmate (one he barely ever talked to) in an intimate setting. His hands visibly shook at the thought.

He cussed under his breath and backed away from the door before shoving his traitor hands into his pockets and briskly marching back towards the curb. He wasn't sure where all his bravado from that morning had gone. It was as if the large, golden-trimmed door had sucked every ounce of confidence out of his body the second he'd touched it. Feeling his knuckles brush against something, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and stared down at the crumpled up piece of paper he'd painstakingly written his plan out on.

_**Step one:** make it through both photoshoots without falling asleep_

_**Step two:** ditch Nathalie somewhere._

_**Step three:** swing by the bakery to order something sweet before "accidentally" running into Marinette._

_**Step four:** sit down and Chat™®© over coffee_

_**Step five:** win her over with puns (listed on the back)_

_**Step six:** ? ?? more coffee ? ?_

_**Step seven:** matching best buddy bracelets_

Honestly, his plan had been foolproof.

He just hadn't taken into consideration the possibility that he'd panic and lose all composure before walking through the door.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before making his way back towards the door. Bracing himself against the door frame, he silently geared himself up for what he was about to do. He was Adrien freakin' Agreste and Chat freakin' Noir. If he was able to balance being a model student, a model superhero, and a model... model then he should be able to do this. He would be able to do this.

He couldn't do this.

He pushed away from the frame and stumbled backwards as if the building had burned him, a pool of shame settling in the pit of his stomach like rancid milk. Chat had no problem whatsoever shamelessly flirting with the love of his life, but Adrien couldn't even make himself visit a classmate? It was almost humiliating to think about.

The large door loomed in front of him, sunlight glistening off the gold trim as if it was taunting him. He barely resisted the urge to kick it.

Shoulders hunched over in a way he'd surely be scolded for if his father or Nathalie were around, he decided to head home. He'd freed up the rest of the day for this. Might as well spend it mindlessly drowning his sorrows in videos games.

The soft tinkling bell of the bakery door stopped him in his tracks.

"Pardon me, young man?"

He whipped around and came chest-to-face with a short, pretty middle-aged woman. She was holding a tray of flaky-looking croissants in her hands that made his mouth water slightly as she propped open the door with her foot.

"We've been watching you pace back and forth between the door and the road for the past half hour," the woman said, gesturing towards the packed bakery with her head. "We're open and you're welcome to come in, in case you weren't aware."

His ears felt hot. _Of course_ they'd been able to see him-- the building was covered with giant windows. Every person inside had basically just witnessed him get into a standoff with a door and lose. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and fuse with the slab of concrete beneath his feet, but he couldn't. Not with that warm, welcoming smile being aimed at him by a woman who looked so devastatingly similar to the classmate he'd come there to see.

He rubbed the back of his neck in an effort to stifle the heat that was slowly spreading from the tips of his ears and awkwardly shuffled through the open door. The enticing smell was even more potent inside. This time, despite his nerves, his stomach did growl.

"Now then, what can we get for you?" a deep voice asked from behind the register.

He paled a bit at the sight of the owner of the voice. He vaguely recognized the man from Career Day at school, but he'd been too distracted that day to notice how massive the man was. Mr. Dupain could probably crush him. With his pinky finger. On accident.

After a few seconds of petrified silence, Adrien apologetically held his finger up in a "one moment please" gesture and the man, thankfully, turned to assist the next customer. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding once Mr. Dupain's eyes were no longer on him and slowly inched away from the register.

Now that he was inside, he couldn't stop himself from taking a moment to soak in his surroundings. It was elegantly decorated but not in an intimidating way. Small, yes, but cozy. The whole bakery had a warmth to it that he knew had nothing to do with the ovens in the kitchen. He relaxed slightly as the overall atmosphere began to work its magic on him.

Only to tense up a few seconds later at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Maman! Guess what!"

He hunched over and pointedly stared at an eclair near the bottom of the display case in an effort not to be noticed. As he pulled the collar of his shirt higher in a futile attempt to cover his face, he heard the woman from before laugh and playfully scold her daughter for running indoors.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," a distinctly not-sorry sounding Marinette said, "I'm just excited! Alya found a site that's having a sale on this fabric I really want, so... it isn't as expensive as usual."

"I'm sensing a catch here," the girl's mother said before sighing good-naturedly.

"It'sstillalittleexpensivesoIneedanadvanceon3weeksworthofallowance."

He heard a sharp intake of breath and it was suddenly as if a switch had been flipped on the conversation, changing the primary language from casual French to hushed, rapid-fire Chinese. He furrowed his brow as he tried to pick up on what they were saying, but, even though he was currently studying the language, he still wasn't fluent enough to properly translate anything. From what he could tell, though, her mother didn't sound very pleased about Marinette's request and Marinette didn't sound very pleased about her mother's displeasure. If that made any sense.

Finally the conversation stopped and he glanced up to see a pouty Marinette receiving an apron from her mother and slowly dragging her feet over to the register. Her father patted her on the back sympathetically before heading into the back kitchen along with his wife and leaving his daughter to tend to the shop. After donning the apron, Marinette pulled out her phone and started texting someone, her lower lip jutting out in annoyance as her fingers swiftly tapped at the screen.

He panicked. He was still bent over in front of the display case so she'd yet to notice he was there, but it was only a matter of time before she looked up from her phone and saw him standing there, hunched over, with his shirt pulled over his ears like some kind of weirdo. He had to make a choice and make it fast-- either channel every ounce of bravery he supposedly possessed and say hello to her ... or wimp out. After a moment of deliberation, he decided that 'making a break for the bathroom and hiding out in there until she left' would be the best course of action.

He was silently starting to tiptoe towards the restroom when a small "Eep!" and the sound of something small hitting the floor made him freeze. He'd been caught. Slowly lowering the corner of his shirt collar so he could peer over it, he made eye-contact with a very flustered girl. He could feel his own face heating up as he straightened to his full height and smoothed his shirt collar down.

"Hey, Marinette," he managed to choke out after a few seconds.

She just stared at him, blinking dazed-looking eyes as if she was trying to convince herself he was really there. Giving her a moment to sort out her thoughts, he leaned forward and looked at the floor by her feet to see what she'd dropped. He grimaced. Her phone was lying face down on the ceramic tile floor. He'd startled her and probably caused her to crack her phone screen-- the second thing of hers he'd be responsible for breaking in just as many days. This was going well.

"H-hi, Adrien. What... w-what can I get for you?" she said, her voice coming out as a squeak that might've been cute if the pitch didn't grate uncomfortably against his eardrums.

She was nervously twiddling her thumbs and trying her best to look at everything but him, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. This was such a drastic change from the girl he'd seen the other day. How was that spitfire who'd called him out on his bullshit in class the same meek, closed-off girl who was standing in front of him right now? Where was that fiery, authentic spirit? Where was the intoxicating warmth of hers that had seeped into every inch of his skin? Maybe the fire he'd gotten a glimpse of the other day was simply a fluke, a trick of the light.

But, no. That wasn't right. Just a few moments ago, he'd practically felt that fire oozing out of her as she tried to bargain with her mother about fabric of all things. And, now that he thought about it, he could recall multiple times in class when she'd taken charge or confidently stood up for what she believed in. That spirit and intensity was always there. Yesterday morning was simply the first time Marinette's intensity had been aimed at him specifically, which is probably why it had affected him so much.

It wasn't an issue with her, he realized with a painful jolt. It was _him_. There was something about him that seemed to suck the life and energy out of her. Maybe this, the potential for a great friendship, was yet another thing his perpetual bad luck was ruining for him.

She peeked up at him with a quizzical look on her face and he cringed when he realized it was probably in response to his weird, prolonged silence. What had she asked him again? He racked his brain but couldn't remember.

The light flickered in the display case in front of him, drawing his attention back down to it. Right. This was a bakery. He was a customer. He needed to either buy something or leave.

"Oh, sorry. I'll take a ... hnn g..."

For the second time that day, he wanted to sink right into the floor and die. He hadn't even been aware he was capable of making the noise that had just come out of his mouth, but when he'd looked back over at the girl standing behind the counter and his eyes had settled on her small white teeth softly tugging at her full lower lip, something in his brain had broken.

"A what?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Panicking, he gestured vaguely at the first thing he saw, nodding sharply when she asked if he was certain that's what he wanted, and briskly walked over to the register to pay for it before he could embarrass himself further.

He found himself not 5 minutes later standing outside of the 'Tom and Sabine Boulangerie-Pâtisserie' with a two-tier cake that read "BABY ON BOARD!" and a massive headache starting to creep into his skull. That. Was a disaster.

He felt more than heard Plagg cackling in his pocket and silently vowed to throw out every ounce of cheese he currently had in the kitchen at home.

"Shut up," he hissed as he started walking down the street. "It's not funny."

"It's actually extremely funny. The great Chat Noir-- defeated by a crush!"

He pulled his outer shirt open with his free hand, glaring down at the annoying cat sitting in his inner pocket.

"I don't have a crush on her. My interest in her is purely...uh... scientific."

"Yeah, 'scientific'. You do realize I had to sit through your biology class also, righ--"

"And platonic," he interrupted his kwami with a roll of his eyes. "I just want to be friends with her. You know where my heart already lies."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me the lovesick Ladybug rant today. Besides, judging from the way she went on and on about him yesterday, that Marinette girl obviously thinks Chat is 1000% cooler than you, so you wouldn't stand a chance anyways."

He stopped so abruptly the person behind him almost walked straight into him. He muttered an apology and quickly stepped to the side so they could walk by him as he had his epiphany.

The puzzle was starting to come together right before his eyes, each piece twisting and spinning around in a synchronized dance as they worked their way into the correct spot. Adrien wanted to be friends with Marinette. Marinette was too freaked out by Adrien to be herself around him. Marinette was a fan of Chat Noir. Marinette had no idea Chat Noir was actually Adrien. If he wanted to get to know her and figure out the mystery behind her unpredictable behavior and wild array of expressions and inexplicable outpouring of warmth, then he needed to approach her as his masked alter-ego. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it in the first place.

As he practically sprinted home, mindful not to jostle the expensive cake he'd bought, he couldn't help the devious smile that stretched across his face as a new plan began forming in his head.

~~~

It was time for a rematch.

One on one.

The door that had bested him earlier that day loomed in front of him once again, but this time he'd come prepared. This time, he'd come as Chat. And Chat wasn't afraid of doors or intimidating fathers or classmates with distracting lip-biting tendencies.

He smirked and strode confidently into the boulangerie-pâtisserie, head held high for all to see as the infernal door banged against the wall behind him a little harder than necessary. When he got inside, he placed his hands on his hips and shut his eyes as he struck his most heroic pose and waited for the inevitable squeal of excitement.

Silence.

He peeked an eye open, deflating immediately at what he saw. The bakery was empty (save for a couple of quiet patrons in the back who were too wrapped up in their books to notice him) and Marinette was nowhere to be seen. He'd just wasted a perfectly good entrance.

As he was contemplating his options, he heard a loud crash and a frustrated growl coming from the kitchen. His cat ears perked up in interest.

He cracked open the kitchen door and peered inside, his eyes widening at the sight that greeted him.

The first thing he noticed was how white everything was-- it looked as if winter had come early and freshly fallen snow had dusted across the counters and floor in weird, uneven clumps. The second thing he noticed was that there was an angry snow creature sitting in the middle of the room with a giant bag over its head. The last thing he noticed, as the bag was removed from the creature in question, was that it was, in fact, Marinette and the "snow" happened to be the contents of an entire bag of flour.

The girl threw the empty flour sack to the side before covering her face with her hands and letting out the weirdest noise he'd ever heard a person make in his life. He couldn't really see the flour-caked girl at the moment, but he could still tell she was about a second away from breaking down. He had to approach this situation with tact and gracefulness and compassion and

"Well, I always make it a point to bring beautiful ladies flowers, but it looks as if you've already got that covered." he blurted out before he could stop himself.

It was dead silent for a few moments. Right as he was opening his mouth-- whether to apologize for lack of tact or explain why he was here or offer to help her clean up, he wasn't sure-- her shoulders started to shake. He rushed forward before he was aware of what his feet were doing, panic filling his chest. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

It wasn't until her hands dropped from her face that he realized she wasn't crying at all. She was laughing.

"Of course you'd show up right now," he heard her say, her tone a strange mixture of exasperated and amused. "Fate's been dealing me the worst hands lately, so why not add a loudmouthed witness to that..."

He wanted to defend himself-- he wasn't a loudmouth!-- but he could tell she needed to vent. She needed to get everything that had been bothering her off her chest and out into the open. If he opened his mouth now, he'd only disrupt that.

"I broke my mom's favorite vase the other night," she started off, futilely trying to wipe the flour away from her eyes with her flour-covered hands, "Even with extra shifts at the bakery, I don't have enough money to afford the fabric I needed to make Alya's birthday present, I embarrassed myself in front of this guy from school yesterday and then couldn't even manage to apologize to him when I saw him today, I broke my phone this morning and won't be able to get another one any time soon, and now this happened!"

She threw her hands up in the air and wildly gestured at the ruined kitchen, flinging small clouds of flour into the air with the movement.

"I'm a mess and so is this kitchen and now I'm... I'm ranting about it to someone who doesn't even know me! You must think I'm crazy!"

Quite the opposite, actually. He couldn't stop staring at her. Her wide blue eyes and the ever-present pink flush on her cheeks popped that much more against the stark white of the flour that covered her from head to toe. She looked so small and pouty and helpless that all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and protect her from everything. She... she was...

She raised a hand to her lips and nibbled at a fingernail, tiny nose crinkling in disgust as taste of the raw flour hit her tongue.

She was cute.

"I don't think you're crazy," he choked out, startling both of them, "a little clumsy, yeah, but not crazy. You're allowed to feel overwhelmed at times-- especially with that much on your plate. You're only human."

The corner of her mouth tugged up into a small smile at that.

"Besides, no person with good enough sense to be a fan of Chat Noir could be crazy."

She sputtered, smile gone.

"Y-you think? I..."

"I heard that you were singing my praises the other day, Princess." he said, inching closer to her with a crooked grin on his face. "I wasn't aware I had such a dedicated fan."

Her eyes narrowed into the same calculating gaze he recognized from the other day. He felt the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach again as he watched her shamelessly stare at him. It was as if she was trying their best to work out some kind of puzzle and the answer was lying somewhere on his face. After a few minutes, she shook her head as if dispelling a crazy thought and then let out a small huff that blew her powdered bangs out of her face.

"You have more fans than you think, Chat."

"I'll take your word for it, Princess," he said before picking up her hand and placing a kiss on it.

He was expecting her to blush or freak out. What he wasn't expecting was for her to tug her hand away and burst out laughing.

"White lipstick isn't a very good look for you."

He grimaced. Right. There was flour everywhere-- especially on her hands. He'd almost forgotten.

"Now," she said as she stood up, wiping the flour off of her face with a clean washcloth before handing it to him, "are you finally going to tell me why you're here?"

"No reason really," he said, drawing a smiley face in the flour that covered a nearby countertop, "just stopping by to visit my biggest fan."

She raised a brow as if she didn't quite believe him. Maybe it was time to change his alibi.

"I'm ... uh... here to gift my eyes with the sight of your beauty?"

Her arms were crossed now.

"I was... just in the neighborhood and... wanted to try some freshly-baked goods."

She dropped her arms, seeming to accept this answer, and walked over to the fridge. Pulling out a large hunk of wrapped dough from the top shelf, she ushered him over to stand by her. Confused but curious, he made his way over to her. He had no idea what was happening, but at least she wasn't kicking him out like she had every reason to. This was a good start.

"What are we do--"

She cut him off by dropping a pair of disposable gloves and a round cookie cutter in his hand.

"I'm going to tell you what my dad told me the first time I wandered into the kitchen while he was baking: if you're going to be back here, you're going to help."

She unwrapped the massive hunk of dough and started to evenly roll it out with a rolling pin that looked like it weighed more than she did. It took every ounce of concentration he had to pay attention to what was happening. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from toned muscles in her arms that tensed and flexed with every movement. Marinette had some guns.

"I don't mind the company, so I'm not going to pester you anymore about why you're really here," she said, shooting him a look that promptly made him shut his mouth and avert his eyes from her arms, "but I am going to try to get as much use out of you as I possibly can."

He studiously ignored the hormonal part of his brain that immediately wanted to reply with a "go ahead and use me, Princess" and opted instead for pulling the polyethylene gloves over his already gloved hands and giving her a cheesy thumbs up.

She quickly explained how to cut the english-style scones and coat them with a butter mixture before rushing into the back to grab some cleaning supplies. He squared his shoulders back and immediately got to work, not wanting to disappoint her. There was something weirdly therapeutic about cutting into the soft but firm dough and pushing the perfectly-round pieces out into his hands. His powers were destructive, so these hands of his rarely ever got the chance to create something. It was a nice feeling.

They both worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. The kitchen was still a mess and he was getting flour on his all-black outfit-- something Plagg was surely going to scold him for later-- and the heat from the ovens beside him was making him sweat in awkward places, but he'd never felt more comfortable. As a homeschooled kid at a public school and a son whose father couldn't even stand to be in the same building as him and an overly-flirty superhero whose partner was annoyed with him more often than not, he was used to the feeling of being unwelcome. Yet Marinette had not only flat out told him she didn't mind his company, but had also had given him a task to keep him around longer. It was a small thing. She probably hadn't even realized the gravity of her actions. But, to him, it meant the world.

He peered up at her as she made her way around the kitchen. She was humming softly as she wiped a countertop down, hair wild and unkempt, clothing still mostly covered in patches of flour. Yet she was still somehow effortlessly exuding that warmth he was starting to expect from her. She was a mess, but a mesmerizing one.

There was some extra dough left once he was finished cutting up the scones and he could almost feel a lightbulb rising out of the top of his head. He shot Marinette a quick glance to make sure she was facing the other direction. Working fast, he strategically arranged the excess dough on one of the baking sheets. Smirking to himself, he plopped the tray in the preheated oven along with the others before she could notice and scold him.

"While that's baking, come over here and help me clean."

She was much closer to him than he'd expected. He jumped and spun around in shock-- a move that might've worked out fine for his agile cat reflexes had the floor not been coated in flour. He slipped on a clump of the powdery white stuff and landed on the ground with hard thump, sending large puffs of flour into the air. After a few painful seconds (his butt really really hurt), Marinette dissolved into a round of giggles.

"I'm glad you think my pain is funny," he said, trying and failing to pout as a grin snuck its way onto his face.

"I'm sorry," she gasped out. "You just should've seen your face!"

He pouted for real this time. He couldn't believe she was making fun of him.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to mask his devious smirk as he contemplated his next move.

"Could you maybe stop wounding my ego long enough to help me up?" he asked innocently, holding his hand out to her.

She took his hand without question, a wide smile still lighting up her face. He promptly yanked on her arm hard enough to make her come toppling down to the ground beside him. She landed in an uncomfortable heap, a look of intense betrayal replacing her smile that he wouldn't allow himself to feel guilty about.

"Well, well, well. How the turntables--"

He was cut off by a face-full of flour. He sputtered, immediately wiping the powder away from his eyes and mouth. He glared up at an innocent-looking Marinette, his gaze settling on the handful of flour she was still holding once he could finally see. Oh, it was on.

A full-on flour battle ensued. The fine powder was flung in each direction, making the kitchen look like even more of a disaster zone than it had previously. They were both laughing and breathing so hard as they dodged each other's attacks that he was almost positive their lungs were filling up with flour from the clouds that were impeding his vision. He couldn't find it in him to care, though. This was almost more exhilarating than late night patrols around Paris. Almost.

They both collapsed on the floor as the dust settled around them, trying to catch their breaths. He propped himself up on his side as he took in Marinette's flushed, smiling face. He wasn't lying when he'd said he wanted to write the guidebook to her emotions. Whether it was anger or frustration or betrayal or nervousness or playfulness, each expression was clearly displayed on her face for the world to see. She didn't hide behind a mask like he did. She was bright, she was real, she was fascinating, and he could feel a part of him slowly growing addicted to the warmth she exuded.

Her eyes flung open as the oven timer went off. Immediately hopping to her feet and attempting to dust off her clothing, she darted over to the ovens to take the scones out of the oven. He took that as his cue to leave before she could scold him.

He barely caught her appalled exclamation of "CHAT!" as she took in the paw-shaped scones lining the third baking tray before high-tailing it out of the front door and taking off into the night.

As he showered that night, he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. His house was too big, too empty, too cold to ever feel welcoming. But, as he scrubbed the flour out of his hair, he could still feel remnants of Marinette's warmth from earlier that day buzzing across his skin. The real Marinette, the girl who flung flour at his face and threw her head back when she laughed and didn't balk at the sight of him, was like his own personal sun.

And he couldn't wait for his next chance to bask in her light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THIS DUMB CHAPTER AND THEN HAD TO REFORMAT IT AGAIN AND I HATE MYSELF

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I would never write fanfic again, but tbh I've been struggling to tread water as this fandom has attempted to drag me under FOR TOO LONG and I'm tired. So, I'm willingly surrendering.
> 
> But if I'm going down, **I'm gonna take some of y'all with me**.


End file.
